And the World Spins
by awordfitlyspoken
Summary: Post-CF, Katniss's POV. Basically, my version of Mockingjay. Not necessarily what I think will happen, though. Starts out with things being tight between Kat and Gale; some fighting b/c Katniss still wants Peeta back. Don't want to spoil, though. R&R!
1. Broken

Everything is quiet.

Too quiet.

And cold. It feels as if the very darkness around me were seeping deep into my bones. I grit my teeth as it presses against me, covering my eyes and ears, cutting me off from all my senses.

A dim light appears not too far from me, and I gratefully stumble towards it, the only thing that is distinguished from the surrounding blackness. As I near it I see a metal table. A lifeless figure is strapped to it. I shiver, although because of the cold or the unknown form before me, I don't know. Suddenly, somewhere out in the pitch black, a door slams, echoing through the dark. Footsteps approach, and then there's President Snow with his snake-like eyes boring into the shapeless lump on the table.

"Wake up," he hisses. His voice is like nails scratched across a slate. A shudder runs through me.

"Wake up," Snow repeats softly. "It's time to play…" He whispers it, like an old friend, all the while grinning wickedly. Goosebumps spring up on my arms, and suddenly the chill seems ten times colder.

The lump stirs, moaning feebly. I pick out a form in the dim light, and its head turns toward Snow's rasping voice. Now the thing's face is no longer in shadow, and I can see it fully.

My heart lurches down into my gut.

It's Peeta.

"Oh, Peeta, how wonderful," Snow croons. His malicious eyes gleam like a child that got a new toy for Christmas. "You've finally decided to accept my offer."

Peeta struggles to speak, but he only gets out a low groan that stabs at my stomach like a sharp knife.

"Oh, poor Peeta," Snow says softly, those snake-eyes just inches from Peeta's. "What ever can you do?"

Then he straightens and beams down at Peeta like a teacher looking fondly at a favorite student. Peeta's moans grow louder. As Snow's smile widens, Peeta begins to writhe. Soon his pain heightens so much that he's screaming in anguish. At this, Snow beings to laugh, a horrible, evil, ragged cackle that wheezes and rasps and shakes my bones like a saw cutting through a tree branch. Peeta's screams are pure agony, and suddenly, waterfalls of blood are flowing out of him, everywhere, and he clutches his head and keeps screaming while Snow cackles away, until finally, his body goes still…

I jolt upright with a strangled cry, sucking in breaths of air desperately. It was just a dream, just another nightmare, I try to reassure myself. I'm aware that my nightshirt and hair are sticking to me with cold sweat. Just another nightmare, I tell myself again.

From the floor to my right I hear a commotion. A muffled voice mumbles sleepily. "Wha'…? Ow!"

And then Gale emerges from his blankets, rubbing his head and mumbling under his breath. His sleepy eyes find me in the darkness. "Catnip? What's going on?"

I feel a little guilty about making him lie on the floor like that, but the thought of him sharing my bed with me like I did with Peeta seems so…intimate. It makes me uncomfortable just to think about it.

"Nothing," I lie. I try unsuccessfully to keep my voice steady. But Gale knows me all too well.

"C'mon, Catnip. Was it another nightmare?"

I consider telling him to go back to sleep, but I just can't keep it in any longer. I have to tell someone about it. Besides, he'd just keep asking me anyway.

"Yes," I say in a small voice.

Gale runs his hand over his tired face before getting to his feet and stretching with a yawn.

"C'mon, let's go for a walk. A change of scenery will do you good," he says. He extends his hand out to me. I take it, and he pulls me out of bed. As we make our way down the narrow hallway, Gale doesn't let go of my hand. Instead, he laces his fingers through mine. It feels nice, and I don't complain. I like knowing that I'm not alone. That I have a friend out here in this cold and alien world. But I get a strange, nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, and briefly I it occurs to me that it means something different to Gale than it does to me…but I push the thought away.

We come to a darkened room where we can look out the hovercraft window and see the shadows flashing past. I take a deep, shaky breath and try to collect myself as I stare at the blurry shapes below.

Gale turns to me, half of his face submerged in moonlight and the other in darkness. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

I don't want to relive my nightmare again, but I feel that if I don't share the horror that it might consume me.

"It was dark," I begin quietly. As I recount my dream I feel the darkness press around me again, and I have to keep reminding myself that Gale is with me now; I concentrate on the friendly pressure of his hand wrapped around mine to get me through it. But the darkness of the room reminds me of the darkness in the dream, of unseen things, and I shiver uncontrollably. Gale prods me to continue. When I mention President Snow, he presses his lips together slightly, and a little crease appears between his eyebrows, thrown into sharp relief by the shadows in the room.

"He started talking to the thing on the table," I continue in a whisper. "His voice was horrible and raspy. And then the thing moved, and I saw its face...it was Peeta." My voice breaks on his name, and I try to suppress the sudden flow of tears that threaten to spill out of my eyes at the memory. I must be strong. I can't cry. When I blink the tears back I see that Gale's expression has hardened, like a stone mask. But I can't stop now that I've started.

"And the most horrible thing is," I say in a trembling voice, "that…it could all be true." And suddenly I'm choking back sobs that rack my body with shudders and cloud my vision with hot tears. Gale pats my back mechanically, and through my blurred vision I see that his smooth mask is less composed now. Somehow this sparks my already-out-of-control emotions, and indignation flares up inside of me.

"What," I choke out, "do you not care that Peeta might be being tortured?"

My outburst catches him off guard, but now his mask has dissolved completely. Anger darkens his brow.

"No, I just thought...that since he was gone....Never mind!" he splutters furiously.

"You thought that I would just forget him, and be with you?" I shout.

He opens his mouth to retaliate, and then jams it shut, furious. But I know what he would've said.

"I've got news for you, Gale," I say through gritted teeth. "You're not the only one I care about. I care about Peeta, too. And sometimes I wish he was here instead of you."

A flash of pain colors Gale's features, and I almost want to take it back, erase it forever, but then Gale's gray eyes are piercing mine again, glowering, smoldering.

"Fine," he growls. "I guess I'll just disappear for awhile."

And then he turns his back to me, stalks back down the hall, and vanishes out of sight. I stare blankly after him.

I guess it turns out I was alone after all.


	2. Persuit

After I get over the shock of the moment, my anger comes back in full force. I storm down the hall after Gale. Before I reach my room, a sleepy-looking Prim comes out of the adjacent door.

"What's the matter, Katniss?" she asks. "I heard yelling."

"It was nothing, Prim. Go back to sleep."

I shut the door in her surprised face. I don't want to talk right now.

When I enter my room I find Gale's blankets and pillows still lying in a heap on the floor, abandoned. I throw myself on the bed and glare at them. I feel bad about what I said, and I almost go apologize to him, but I'm still too angry to admit my wrong. Instead, I fume in silence. As the minutes tick away, I can't help thinking how the situation would have been different if it were Peeta in Gale's stead. He would have comforted me, held me, soothed me with soft words and caresses. Gale only gave me a stiff pat and a statue face. Because he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand that I need Peeta, too. But Peeta does. He knows that I love Gale. He wouldn't get angry if I missed Gale, if I worried about him, if I had nightmares about him in pain. He would help me bear it.

For the millionth time I feel the familiar ache in my chest, the desperate yearning to have Peeta with me again. Like my heart is reaching out to find him; too far, and it hurts. And as the emptiness fills me yet again, I finally realize who the culprit of all this misery is.

Haymitch.

Haymtich, who let Peeta slip through his grasp in his most desperate time of need. Left him to the merciless Capitol. And even now, he does nothing. "_We're going on a roundabout journey to District 13," _he had said. Little did I know then what _roundabout_ means. It means going to every district, disguised as a Capitol vessel, to pick up new recruits. I had hoped then that roundabout could include going back to rescue Peeta, but now I know better. Haymitch is a liar. A worthless drunk. He can't be trusted. If I want to rescue Peeta, I'm going to have to make it work myself.

As my resurrected loathing of Haymitch Abernathy swells inside of me, I feel a strange sort of satisfaction. Because it feels so natural. Nothing in my life has felt normal for a long time, so this feeling of hate feels right. Familiar, like an old friend. I hate Haymitch. Of course I do. I always did. Always will. This is how it's supposed to be. Finally, something makes sense.

And so I fall asleep with my newfound hate burning in me, warming me, and I imagine a million different ways I could confront Haymitch tomorrow, and make him finally do what he should've done when Peeta was first captured.

I don't have any nightmares tonight.

* * *

When I wake up, at first I'm confused at Gale's absence. Then it all comes back to me; the dream, the fight, my renewed hate of Haymitch, and my resolution to make him return to rescue Peeta. I jump out of bed with a new determination.

The first thing I do is confront Haymitch. I find him in alone in a room barren of furniture but bursting with important-looking files. When I barge in, he looks up from the array of paperwork splayed across the table.

"What do you want?" he asks scathingly.

His belittling tone infuriates me further, and makes my resolve grow even stronger.

"I want Peeta back," I say.

Haymitch looks at me. "I know you do, sweetheart," he says, "but right now I have pressing matters to attend to. Now if you will kindly excuse me--"

"What, Peeta being tortured isn't pressing enough?" I practically spit the words at him. I'm not giving up.

Haymitch merely grunts noncommittally. "This is why we don't let you make the plans," he says. "You'd ruin everything."

This remark fills me with incredulous anger. "How is saving Peeta ruining everything?" I shout.

Haymitch just takes a swig of his white liquor. "No need to yell," he says bluntly. Then he sighs. "Look, I don't have time for this. Just leave me alone and go talk to your boyfriend or something."

My face flushes red at his reference to Gale and I'm about to make a retort, but he forces me from the room with surprising strength, locking the door behind me.

I try unsuccessfully to turn the knob, but in the end I just give up and kick the door instead, which is not a good idea, since I am now groaning in pain as well as frustration. With a last exasperated huff I stomp off to the mess hall to get some breakfast.

I'm still in a foul mood as I'm eating my bacon and eggs. I speak a little too harshly to the shocked serving ladies. Then I find a deserted table and shovel in my food in peace. But I guess some people just can't take a hint. Some one approaches and sits down across from me. I glance up, annoyed, to see who it is, and I'm surprised and irritated to see that it's Gale.

"Hey Catnip," he says tonelessly. I just chew slowly.

"I can tell you're still mad. I just came to say....I'm sorry." He forces the words out, as if it pains him to apologize.

"I'm sorry, too," I say flatly. We eat in silence. After a while, I'm so absorbed in my food and my own thoughts that I don't realize that Gale is quietly seething and has finally reached his boiling point.

"Katniss," he says hotly, "I came over here to talk to you. You might as well say something back."

I'm already grouchy, and now he's ruffling my feathers the wrong way. "I did!" I say testily. "I said I'm sorry!"

"What is your problem? Why are you still mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at Haymitch!" I snap.

Gale is about to make an angry reply, but then my words register and I watch the anger ebb away from his features.

"Haymitch?" he asks. "Why?"

"Because," I start, but then I think it would be better not to mention Peeta again. "Nevermind."

Gale's rage is back as quickly as it went. "What, don't you trust me enough to tell me?"

"That's not what I meant!" I say. "It would just complicate things even more!"

Gale stands up with his plate.

"Thanks for talking to me, anyway," he says. Then for the second time in twelve hours I watch him storm away.

Why do I always make everything worse?

Days pass, and my anger keeps building under the surface. The littlest things set me off. I ambush Haymtich at every chance I get. Every time he makes some excuse and brushes me off. I'm beginning to get suspicious with the way he won't give me a direct answer. But I'm determined to get one out of him.

I wrench open his office door for the millionth time, just to find him doing the exact same thing he's always doing: looking over paperwork and drinking.

"For Pete's sake, sweetheart, what do you want from me?" he cries.

"You know what I want!" I screech.

"You're a stubborn little bugger," he mutters, taking a long guzzle of liquor. "Quite tenacious."

Just then I'm so aggravated with his infuriating noncompliance that I raise my hand and knock his bottle over, sending it skidding across the table and into the opposite wall with a satisfying crash. Alcohol drips down the wall and seeps over the floor. Briefly I'm reminded of that time when Peeta knocked over Haymitch's glass of spirits on the train before our first Hunger Games. I stare defiantly at Haymitch, breathing deeply. He stares back at me.

"All right," he says. "You win."

Finally. I turn to leave, to find Plutarch and anyone else who could help.

"I can't do it," Haymitch says from behind me.

I whirl back around, enraged again.

"But you just said--" I splutter.

"I know," Haymitch says calmly. "But I can't."

"WHY?" I shout. And in that moment I'm so furious that I'm tempted to rake my nails down Haymitch's face again. I bound toward him with my hands raised threateningly. I notice that there are still scars on Haymitch's cheek. But Haymitch doesn't cower. He doesn't wince. He just stares steadily back at me with those beady black eyes that shine with a dark glint of anger now, too. "Sweetheart--"

"WHY?" I demand again. My nails are just inches from his skin.

"Because," he says, "we can't just--"

"Don't lie to me, Haymitch!" I scream. "I want to know the truth! What are you keeping from me? I have to--"

"Do you really want to know the truth?" Haymitch yells in my face, eyes fiery.

"Yes, I want to know, I'm the mockingjay! You can't keep things from--"

"HE'S DEAD!" Haymitch bellows.

I am frozen in place, my hands still outstretched, poised to attack. Shock courses through me, making my limbs go stiff.

"What?" I croak.

"You heard me," Haymitch says grimly, quietly. "He's dead."


	3. Tidal Wave

A/N: New chapter! Thank you for everyone who's reviewed my story so far. I really appreciate all of your feedback. :] Thank you so much, and please keep reading and reviewing! Any constructive criticism is welcome.

* * *

My brain seems to go dysfunctional for a moment. I just stand there, dumbfounded, as the shock paralyzes me from head to toe. But then I recover enough to stammer in denial.

"N-no," I say. Peeta, dead? "No."

Haymitch just looks at me with a strange mixture of somber pity. "I'm sorry," he says.

"No," I whisper again, backing away slowly, cautiously, like I would if I didn't want to scare an animal away. I bump into the door, and only one small, choked sound escapes me before I throw it open and bolt.

I race desperately through the hovercraft, unseeing, as the tears begin to blind me. I push past everyone I encounter, not even bothering to apologize. Normally I would think this incredibly rude, but right now I don't care. I just have to get out of here. Now. Already I'm sobbing, and I haven't even reached my room yet. I can feel a dozen pairs of eyes trained on my flushed, tear-streaked face as I flee down the corridor.

"Catnip!" Gale shouts from behind me. I glace back and see him running to catch up with me, his form blurry through my tears.

"Just leave me alone, Gale!" I scream. The words choke in my throat on the way out and transform into a sob. Just keep going, I tell myself. Almost there.

When I reach my door I wrench it open and hurl myself inside. Then I slam the door behind me, and the sound echoes through the hall. I bolt the door securely so no one will come bother me.

Now that I'm alone I let myself go completely. A river of tears flows freely down my cheeks. My sobs violently shake my entire body and turn my breaths into frantic gasps. I barely make it to my bed before I collapse into a quaking heap. Through all of my trauma I can only form one thought:

Peeta is dead.

The realization hits me again and again with a force that drives me to my knees, and I bury my head into the blankets, trying to hide from reality. But no matter how hard I try the haunting truth finds me and forces me to acknowledge it.

Peeta is dead.

A thousand memories flash before my vision. A young boy in the rain, tossing a loaf of bread to a starving girl. A dazzling god-tribute in a chariot, with bright flames framing his perfect face. A deathly pale victim of the Games, muttering feverishly in his sleep. A smiling victor, looking clean and healthy and beautiful. An artist, with a deep, curious look of concentration in his eyes as his pencil sweeps across the page. A heartbroken fiancé, gazing sadly down at a sleeping girl and an injured boy.

He's dead. Peeta is dead.

An involuntary cry slips from my lips--a melancholy wail filled with unbearable grief. Pain washes over me like a tidal wave, dragging me under the surface, down into the endless deep. I let it take me, and lose myself in the dark.

* * *

For a lifetime, it seems, I am lost in some sort of waking slumber. The pain has dulled to a continuous throbbing ache in my chest, a constant reminder of what I have lost.

Peeta.

My eyes are weak and red from crying. My breath comes in shuddering gasps. And still, even now, an occasional tear leaks out of my sore eyes, burning up my cheeks, and whimpers escape from my lips periodically.

I lie there in my own world of sorrow for days, weeks, months, for all I know. Sometimes they come banging on my door, begging me to come out, just eat a little! You can't stay in there forever and starve! But I ignore them. Once, as if in a dream, I heard voices outside my door.

"Don't give that to her, it'll just make it worse!"

"Better to do it now when she's grieving. Get it over with. I promised him I'd give it to her. And that's what I'm doing."

And then an envelope appeared under the crack in my door.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," said the first voice.

"Too bad it's not for you to decide."

And then the sound of footsteps retreating back down the hall.

I didn't go see what it was for a long time. But when I finally did, I tore open the envelope hungrily. Because it was from him. It was in his own neat penmanship that the words "For Katniss" were carefully written on the front. I recognized the letter a few lines into it. It was one of the letters that we were supposed to write before the Quell to our family members, to be delivered after we were dead. I had never written mine, but Peeta had written his. And there, in my hands, were Peeta's last words to me.

Katniss—

I won't dwell on what you already know: I'm dead.

I know this is hard for you, but you've got to accept it and move on. Please don't let this weigh you down for the rest of your life. Don't be afraid to go on living without me. I promise, it's not an insult to my memory. Just know this: as long as you're happy, I'm happy. So live. Be with Gale. It's what you want. I know you love him. You don't have to feel guilty about it. Just be happy. Please. For me.

I'll save you a spot in heaven, if that's where I'm going.

I love you. Forever.

Peeta

And then my tears fell onto the paper, smearing and blotting the words of Peeta's final goodbye, and I slipped back into the black.

* * *

When I finally wake up—for real—my eyes are dry. I sit up and take a deep breath, smooth my disheveled hair. I sit there for a long time, staring into the nothingness around me. Goodbye, Peeta, I whisper. I love you. I miss you. Goodbye… I let the words float through the silence, softly, like the way Peeta used to stroke my hair. Then they fade slowly away, dissolving into the grief-sodden air. And I gently, ever so gently, release my tight grip in the part of my heart where I have been keeping Peeta for all this time. Let him go, once and for all.

Or so I think.

I rise from the bed slowly, and my limbs shake under my weight. I feel weak, empty. I just stand there, confused and unsure of what to do. Gazing about the room, I try to enlighten myself, but I can't find anything of importance. Everything seems flat and grey; meaningless.

But no. There is meaning. I do have a purpose. I am the Mockingjay. My purpose is to uphold the rebellion. Drive it to victory. Ensure, finally, the freedom of the people of Panem. It's what Peeta would want. I feel a twinge of pain when I think that he will not be there to witness it with me. But I will fight, nonetheless. For Panem. For the ones I love.

For you, Peeta, I think.

I take Peeta's letter and fold it up carefully. Then I place it in my pocket. As I do so my fingers search automatically to find Peeta's pearl, to feel its smooth, reassuring surface. But instead they brush only the inner fabric of my pocket. I freeze, searching through my pockets again. Where is it? Frantically I run back to the bed, pulling up blankets and pillows, my eyes desperately sweeping the floor for the shining silver sphere. Finally I find it in the drawer of my nightstand, tucked securely away in the folds of a shred of fabric. Relief floods through me, and I slip it safely into my pocket with the letter. My fingers close around its familiar, comforting shape. And one last tear slides silently down my cheek.

But after a moment I wipe it away. I am done with tears. I have to be strong. I suck in a deep breath. Close my eyes for just a moment. And remember his perfect face, glowing and happy and alive. Breathe in his familiar scent, baking bread and just a whiff of cinnamon. Hear his soft, sweet voice caress me like a gentle breeze. Feel his strong arms wrapped firmly around me, protecting me from my nightmares.

I will fight, Peeta, I think. For you.

And then I take a deep, steadying breath, and open the door.


	4. Remember

A/N: OK, sorry it took a little while to update. And also, I think this chapter may be a little dry. :/ I am currently working on chapter 5 and I should be done soonish. It's just taking me forever to write because I'm trying to figure out how exactly I'm going to play into what I want to happen…I actually wrote a lot of it and had to scratch it because it was going in the wrong direction. :/ So…sorry! I hope this chapter doesn't bore you too much. Hopefully things will get interesting again soon. :D

* * *

When I open the door, the first thing I see is Gale. He's sitting slumped against the wall, with his legs extending out and his head drooping gloomily down. As the door closes behind me, his head snaps up, and his eyes meet mine. I notice the dark circles under them and the exhausted look hovering over him. How long has he been sitting here? His tired face suggests that it's been a while. Has he been sitting outside my door the entire time?

Despite his fatigue, his face breaks into a weary smile when he sees me. "Catnip," he says, and I'm glad to hear it. It sounds so familiar and friendly.

"Gale," I reply, and my voice comes out as a croak from lack of use. I try for a smile, but my cheek muscles don't seem to be working, so it ends up being very weak.

Gale stands up and approaches me slowly. His gray eyes are filled with concern as they look deep into mine, and I can tell that he registers the misery displayed plainly there.

"Katniss, I'm so sorry," he says softly, and I know that he truly is. I can see the earnest sympathy in his expression. Even his own personal sorrow at Peeta's death.

"Gale," I whisper again, and then I stagger into his arms and those wretched tears that I've already banished away return.

Gale strokes my hair gently, just like Peeta used to.

"Shh, Catnip. Shh."

"I missed him so much," I mumble into his chest, "and now…I can never have him back!" I begin to sob yet again, and my whimpers and wails are muffled by Gale's shirt.

"I know, Catnip. I'm so sorry," he says. "And…I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier. That was uncalled for. I guess…" He lets out a sad sigh. "I guess I was just jealous of him. I'd always felt bitter about him, for being with you. But even then he was hard to hate. And now…I don't feel any hard feelings against him at all. Now that he's gone…I remember what a great guy he was. And," he continues, slowing down his words now, "I realize that he deserved you more than I do. And I really am sorry that's he's gone."

Me, too, Gale. I'm sorry that he's gone. So extremely, hopelessly sorry.

So I just keep crying into Gale's shoulder for what seems like forever until my sobs finally reduce to quiet sniffles and shaky breaths. And I realize that no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to let Peeta go completely. So I plunge my hand into my pocket and find my pearl, clutching it tightly.

"Are you hungry?" Gale asks gently. "It's been awhile since you've eaten."

Just then I notice how absolutely ravenous I am. My stomach growls loudly.

"C'mon, let's get some food in you," Gale says, and he leads me down the hall.

* * *

Despite how starving I am, I find that it's hard to swallow down my porridge. It has the consistency of glue in my mouth. What little I do force down sits in my stomach like a rock. Pretty soon I give up and shove my bowl away. Gale is concerned at my lack of appetite.

"Are you sure you won't eat any more?" he presses. "You need more nutrition than that."

I shake my head slowly. "How long was I…out?" I ask tentatively.

"Seven days," he answers.

"And how long were you sitting outside my room?"

"Almost the whole time. I was so worried about you. I could hear you screaming and wailing…it was horrible," Gale says quietly. "Every time you stopped I knew you were asleep, or something like that, but the screaming would always come back."

I didn't realize how much my own pain had pained Gale. "I'm sorry," I murmur softly.

"Don't be," says Gale. "You were grieving…for someone you love." The words are hardly more than a whisper, and I can barely catch them over the surrounding din of the mess hall.

Gale gazes sadly across the table for a moment, and I know that while it hurts him a little to know that I love Peeta, he also feels the sorrow of Peeta's death. After a minute he raises his head again. "Here, drink this," he says, nudging a glass of water into my hands.

I take the cup obediently, but I find that even over my thirst I can only take small sips at a time. I can feel the water run down my throat, and it reminds me of my tears. I lower the cup again, slowly.

And then Gale and I sit there silently for a long time, feeling the despair together of a lost friend, loved one, companion. Peeta.

* * *

I am sitting with Gale, my mother, and Prim, in one of the common areas of the craft. No one is saying much. A gloomy air seems to hang over the ship like a thick fog. People come up to me, offering any sort of consolation they can. Finnick is especially sincere. I know that he of all people can empathize with me the most, still unsure of whether his Annie is alive, either. Everyone moves slowly, in a sort of stupor of lamentation, all mourning. But not me. I am finished with mourning. Instead, I am remembering. Everything. I don't want a single moment with Peeta to slip from my memory. I want to keep his image with me forever.

As I sit there reminiscing, someone nears me. I look up. It's Plutarch Heavensbee.

"Ah, Ms. Everdeen," he says. "Glad to see that you've recovered. We are all, of course, acutely sorry for the loss." His voice is sympathetic, but I detect something else underneath it. Guilt?

"Ms. Everdeen," Plutarch continues, "I am sorry if this seems a little hurried—we mean no disregard to your mourning—but, if you are able, we would respectfully request your presence at a meeting in the Conference Room at 3 o'clock this afternoon. You are, after all, the Mockingjay, and it's about time that we included you in our goings-on. So, will you accept this request?"

I nod slowly. Plutarch does a poor job of hiding his relief.

"Thank you, Ms. Everdeen. 3 o'clock, then," he says, turning around. Then he hesistates.

"And…I am truly sorry for your loss."

I just nod again, without feeling. Plutarch turns back around with a look of slight remorse on his face before retreating back in the direction he came from.

"Are you sure, honey?" my mother is saying gently. "Katniss, sweetie, you know that if you're not ready, no one is forcing you."

"I know, Mom," I say. "I'm sure."

And I am. I'm ready. I'm ready to fight. For Peeta. Because I finally remember who I am.

I am the Mockingjay.


	5. Dread

**A/N:** Hello my lovely readers :) I know I just posted Ch. 4 yesterday, but I was almost done with Ch. 5, too, so here it is! Meh...I meant for this chapter to be the chapter with the mission in it, but it didn't end up that way...so it'll probably be in Ch. 6. Anyway, I haven't started Ch. 6 yet, but I am planning on working on it this weekend hopefully. Enjoy :) Reviews are very appreciated! And thank you to all who've been keeping up with my story, I appreciate your support!

* * *

At 3 o'clock I am standing outside the Conference Room with Gale's hand held tightly in mine.

"It'll be okay," Gale says, giving my hand a squeeze. "You're the strongest person I know. Now go in there and bring down the Capitol for me." He smiles at me encouragingly. I smile back weakly before releasing his hand and approaching the door. When I knock, I hear a voice from inside say, "Come." And then with one last look at Gale I go inside.

When I enter the room I see that the voice belongs to Haymitch. He's standing, hands pressed firmly on the long, shiny table, with various leaders sitting around him. For once he has no bottle of liquor nearby. He looks up as I come in.

"Oh," he says with a lopsided smirk, "nice of you to join us, sweetheart. Have a seat." He points at the vacant chair across from him.

"Now that we're all here," he begins, and all chatter dies away, "we'd like to welcome the newest member of our organization: Katniss Everdeen. You may also know her as…the Mockingjay." As he gives a nod in my direction a collective murmur goes around the group. I just keep my eyes down on the brown wood fibers of the table.

"So, sweetheart," Haymtich says to me, and I can feel everyone's eyes weighing heavily on me. "We've called you here for one purpose. We have to know something before we can go any further."

I look up warily into Haymitch's determined gaze.

"We know that you're all broken up about…recent events…but we have to ask you."

There's a long pause, and I know that Haymitch is waiting for me to speak. "What?" I ask.

"We need to know if you're with us."

I look around, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Haymitch replies, "we need to know if you're going to cooperate with us. Now you must realize that if you answer 'yes,' you're promising to do everything we say, no questions asked. So how 'bout it?" He stares me down with his eyes slightly narrowed.

Everything they say, I think. No questions asked. There's been many times in the short time I've known Haymitch that I haven't trusted him. He's kept secrets from me before. Who's to say he won't do it again? Try to manipulate me to do what he thinks is "best" for the rebellion? But I have to ask myself…is it worth it? Even if I'm lied to, tricked, used as a piece in someone's games yet again, is it worth it, for the freedom of the districts? I promised myself that I would fight for the rebellion, for Peeta. And I'm going to keep that promise.

"Yes," I say firmly.

Everyone around the table relaxes visibly. Haymitch grins and leans back in his chair.

"All right," he says. "Then let's get started."

* * *

Ever since that first meeting, I've attended every other meeting that has been held. And I've been trying to actively participate. The meetings cover everything from food shortages in District 11, to the loss of transportation lines in District 3, to the recent revolts in District 4. Now, as an official member of the rebellion organization, nothing is kept from me. At least, I don't think so.

But no matter how fully I immerse myself in the cause, it can never quite fill the hole in my chest. Even as I lay awake at night for hours thinking of new ways to help the rebellion, my mind always wanders back to find the heartache I've tried so hard to forget. In the light I force myself to be strong. But in the welcome cover of night, I allow the mask to dissolve into the darkness that surrounds me wherever I go. Release the ocean of misery that I've been fighting to contain inside me all day. The days of my tears are not over, no matter what I thought before. I lie awake in agony for endless hours, and when I finally slip into sleep, the nightmares that used to haunt me assault me all the more fiercely. And when I wake, there are no comforting thoughts to stop my muted screams because I know that all my nightmares came true. Peeta is dead. So I suffer out every night in silence, and in the morning I firmly set the mask back in place, and pretend I'm okay. Every day as I go about my normal activities, I feel like a part of me is lost, and I find myself constantly slipping my hand into my pocket to find my letter and my pearl. Trying to grasp again that missing piece of me, the piece I know I will never get back. The emptiness makes me ache, and I try to distract myself from the pain by earnestly engaging myself in the rebellion. Attend every meeting. Ask questions. Make suggestions. And fight for the freedom of the districts. Despite being surrounded by people constantly, I feel more alone than ever. So I am relieved when Gale is invited to join the organization, too. As long as he's here with me, I think I can handle it.

At one particular meeting, Haymitch gazes around the table seriously.

"Listen up," he says. "We've been discussing what to do on our next mission. Well, now it's our chance to do it."

He lets his words sink in slowly, and then suddenly a flurry of noise breaks out when everyone realizes what he's just said. We're going on a mission? How soon? Where? Who's going? What's the plan?

"Quiet down," Haymitch orders, raising his hand for silence. "If you just shut up, I'll tell you."

As Haymitch starts giving out assignments, I find myself yet again closing my fingers around my pearl. It seems like my hand never leaves my pocket anymore. A strange sort of tug in my abdomen makes me feel like my stomach is flipping over, and for a second I'm almost afraid that I'll lose my lunch. These missions are dangerous. Anything could happen. What if we're unsuccessful? What if the Capitol catches us and tortures us and kills us like Peeta? The thought leaves me fighting to control my expression, as the mask has almost slid off completely, revealing the anguish underneath. But I collect myself just in time.

"And you, sweetheart," Haymitch says, addressing me. "You're going to be with me. You'll mostly be fighting long-rage with those arrows of yours, if it comes to that."

Fighting? My heart sinks at the thought. I'm sick of fighting. I've done enough fighting for a lifetime. More. I've watched dozens of people die in their own blood, even by my own hand. I don't want to do it anymore. Thinking about the Games, of course, makes me think of Peeta. That horrible wound on his leg that made him sweat so feverishly. That awful moment in the Quell when his heart stopped and I thought I'd lost him forever. And now, I really have…

Painfully, I swallow down the enormous lump that has formed in my throat before the tears can start and nod my head slowly. Haymitch's eyes linger on me a moment longer, squinted slightly in suspicion, as if he knew what I was thinking and could sense my doubts. But then he moves along.

"Gale," he says, "you're going to have charge of your own squad. If it comes to combat, you'll take the front lines. You're a strong fighter, and with a few others you could keep this thing in our favor."

As I watch Gale nodding solemnly, an unexpected sense of panic shoots through me.

"No," I say suddenly, surprising even myself to find that I'm standing.

Everyone stares at me. "What's the problem?" Haymitch asks roughly.

"I—I—" I stutter self-consciously, aware that everyone is watching me. But then I collect myself enough get out what I was trying to say.

"No," I repeat. "Gale is not going."

A look of confusion and shock passes over Gale's face. Haymitch just blinks. "And why not?" he asks bluntly.

"Because," I say, "it's too dangerous."

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Gale is one of our best fighters," he retorts. "We can't just keep him back. He's going, and that's final."

"NO!"

Every eye is on me, but I don't care. I'm not going to let this happen.

"Gale's a big boy, he can take care of himself," Haymitch says angrily. "Now calm down."

"I've already lost Peeta, and I'm not going to lose Gale, too!" I shout. Everyone continues to gawk at me, and I can feel my face grow hot.

"I'm not going to lose him!" I scream again. And then I spin on my heel and run from the room before the telltale signs of crying appear.

"Catnip—" Gale tries to say, but I slam the door before anyone can catch me.

As I blunder back down the hall to my room I get strange sense of dejá vu. I reach my door and stagger inside. Then I sit on my bed and try to calm myself. My face is flushed, and tears are threatening to spill out of my eyes. What's wrong with me? I never used to cry. I used to be a master at concealing my emotions. What's happened to me?

I smooth my hair back and try to take deep breaths to slow down my racing heart. Just then I hear a soft knock on the door.

"Catnip?" says a voice cautiously.

"Who is it?" I sniff, even though I know it's Gale.

"Uh…it's me," he says uncertainly.

"Who?" I ask stubbornly.

"Uh…Gale…C'mon, Catnip, you know it's me. Let me in."

With a sigh, I reluctantly drag myself off the bed and wrench the door open. Gale is standing there hesitantly, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

"Um…hey," he says doubtfully. "Are…are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I just…" I begin. "I just…I'm worried about the mission."

"Oh," says Gale. "Do you want to talk about it? Can I…come in?"

I nod mutely. Gale slips past me into the room and then turns to me.

"What are you worried about?" he asks softly.

I follow him into the room, closing the door behind me.

"Well," I say quietly, staring at the floor, "I don't want it to end…badly."

"It's not going to end badly, Catnip," he says soothingly.

"Gale…I don't want to lose you," I whisper. Tears are beginning to blur my vision again. "I already lost Peeta. And I'm afraid that if you go on that mission, you'll be gone, too."

For a moment, the silence is broken only by my pathetic sniffles, but then suddenly I'm startled as I'm caught up in Gale's spontaneous embrace.

"Everything will be fine," he murmurs into my hair. His arms wrapped around me feel so good, and a warm feeling spreads throughout my being. No one has held me like this for a long time.

"How do you know?" I ask him dubiously, but my doubts are already melting away as I lean into him and feel his warmth against me.

"I just know," he says, and I know that if I could see his face he'd be smiling that impossibly wonderful smile of his.

He's probably lying his guts out, of course, but even so, I don't care. Because even though I know it's not true, I believe it. And the thought brings on a smile. A real one. Not those weak, forced ones I've been offering lately. Gale is the only person that could make me truly smile again.

Except maybe Peeta, if he were still alive.

Peeta.

Gale doesn't understand why I've suddenly started crying again.


	6. Promises

**A/N:** Sorry, this one's LOOOOOOONG. I wrote it all today, pretty much. XD Sorry for the delay! I have a lot of stuff going on right now...I really shouldn't have written this right now, but...too late. I did. :P

So...I'm pretty apprehensive about this one. Please review; I really want to know what yall think!! More details later...

P.S. Thanks SO MUCH to everyone who has reviewed! You have no idea how much I cherish your reviews. :D So...keep reviewing! Please...it makes me happy...:)

* * *

I roll over in bed for the millionth time tonight, trying to get in a position comfortable enough to entice my body to relax and fall asleep. But I can't. My mind has been buzzing with worry all night. I can't stop thinking about the mission. What could happen? What if everything goes wrong? What if Gale…no. I firmly push the thought away. That's not going to happen. Gale said so. In the back of my mind I realize how stupid and naïve I'm being for actually trusting that promise, but I don't care. I just need to believe that he'll be okay. Because I don't want to lose him. Not like I lost Peeta. And then, of course, I'm blinking back tears just thinking about him. Remembering...that's he's gone. Gone forever. Never coming back. I'm never going to see him again. Never again.

Finally, I sigh and slip out of bed. I'm never going to fall asleep anyway. I just need to get some fresh air or something. Well, as fresh as you can get it while aboard a hovercraft. I pull a blanket from the bed and wrap it around me before I go. And then I step out of the door and into the hall.

Walking through the darkness, I feel very small. And alone. Like a little girl, lost on her way home. I don't like the feeling. I used to feel so powerful and strong. A mighty hunter. Provider. Victor. I knew I could take care of myself. I was self-dependent. But now, with my suffocating worries and my tear-stained cheeks and my broken heart, I feel weak. And I wonder if I'll ever be strong again. If I'll ever regain control of myself. Will that gaping hole in my chest ever be filled? No, I think. Not without Peeta. Somehow, even with everything going on, even while I'm worried sick about Gale and the mission and the rebellion and the Capitol…it always comes back to Peeta. And how he's gone.

Gone.

As I reach the window where Gale and I looked out the night of our fight, I stare out again, not seeing the forms outside, but instead seeing him, healthy and beautiful and alive. And then I remember my dream; him bleeding and screaming and dying…but then suddenly my vision transforms, and instead it's Gale who is writhing in pain. As his body goes still, I choke back the lump in my throat. No. He said it wouldn't happen. No.

Suddenly, I'm startled as I feel a light pressure on my shoulder. I whirl around, expecting anything…anything but my mother. She looks ten times older in the darkness, with the shadows deepening the lines in her face that I'd never noticed before. Her sad expression makes my heart throb painfully. The tired look in her eyes tells me that she's not the only one who has been struggling through sleepless nights.

"Katniss," she says in a low voice. "I thought I'd find you out here somewhere."

She pauses to run a hand through her long hair. Then she sighs.

"I've been worried about you, honey."

"I'm okay, Mom," I croak, trying to disguise the fact that I'm about to cry.

My mother just looks at me, and even in the darkness it feels like I'm looking into Prim's eyes. I never fully realized how much Prim looks like my mother. And the clear, blue, eyes remind me of someone else, too…but I can't think about that. Not now.

"Katniss, you can't lie to me," my mother says. Her endless eyes pierce mine. "You may not think so, but I know you. I know that you're not okay."

I don't know what to say. So I just stare blankly back at her.

"Sweetie," she says gently, "I know what's wrong. I know what you're going through." She tries to stroke my hair, but I push her away.

"No, you don't, Mom! You don't know! No one does!" I snap harshly. I'm on the verge of tears now.

My mother withdraws her hand quickly, like I just slapped it or something. Then she closes her eyes, and, after a moment, opens them again, slowly. When she speaks, her voice is only a whisper.

"Katniss, maybe you've forgotten, but I lost someone too."

I freeze, letting her words seep into my brain.

"Trust me," she breathes, "I know how you feel."

Guilt courses through me. How stupid am I being, to push my mother away when she's only trying to help me? And I know that what she says is true. She does know how I feel. Because as I recall that blank, dead, heartbroken, hopeless look that she wore after my father died, I know…that's exactly how I feel. She knows.

My eyes fill with tears as the sorrow washes over me again.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I murmur.

My mother sweeps me up in her arms and strokes my hair softly, and I can tell that she's crying, too.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," she whispers. "I never wanted anything like this to happen to you, ever. It took me months to be able to even function after your father died. You know that. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you and Prim. I just felt so…helpless. It crushed me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to handle it. I was alone."

I sob into my mother's shoulder. "That's how I feel, Mom. All the time."

My mother pulls away from our embrace and holds me at arms length. She cups my chin in her hand and forces me to look up at her. She stares deep into my eyes. Her own eyes are still swimming with tears.

"Katniss," she says, and I'm surprised by how steady her voice is. I've never seen her be this strong before.

"You are not alone."

She says it firmly, clearly. The words rush into my being and lift me up, causing me to stand up straighter and lift my chin higher. _You are not alone. _And as my mother engulfs me in her arms again, I believe it.

* * *

I wake up to the sunlight streaming in through the window and Gale's face hovering over me.

"Catnip, it's time. We need to get ready for the mission," he's saying.

I squint blearily and sit up. I realize that I'm sitting on one over the hovercraft couches, leaning on my mother's arm. She smiles at me, and again I'm reminded of Primrose's sweet, innocent face.

"Are you okay, Catnip?" Gale asks with concern. I imagine that he's remembering yesterday when I burst into tears in his arms.

I look up into his face, brow wrinkled with worry.

"Yes," I say firmly. "I'm fine."

Then I stand up and smooth my hair back, breathing in deeply and closing my eyes for just a moment. Then I snap them open.

"I'm ready," I say. "What do I need to do?"

Gale looks surprised for a second, but then happy relief steals over his features.

"Glad to hear that you're okay," he grins. "Haymitch has called a meeting for the last-minute preparations. It's in five minutes in the conference room."

I smile back at his infectious warmth. "Excellent. Let's go."

As he leads me away, I turn back for one last look at my mother. She smiles encouragingly.

"Remember," she whispers, almost inaudibly. "You're not alone."

* * *

When we reach the conference room, everything is in a frenzy. Peacekeeping uniforms are being distributed throughout the room. People are conversing urgently in groups, no doubt going over individual plans. Through the clamor I hear Haymitch yelling at someone.

"If you don't shut it already, you and your group of demonic fish people with your mermaid tridents are staying behind!"

I crane my neck over the crowd to see Finnick standing there, trying to suppress a grin.

"Yes, sir," he says.

Haymitch rolls his eyes and mumbles something unintelligible under his breath before he catches sight of us.

"Good," he says gruffly, coming over to us. "You're here." He faces Gale. "Are you and your squad ready to go?" he asks.

"Ready and waiting, sir," Gale replies promptly. It's strange to hear everyone calling Haymitch "sir." There's no way I'm calling him that. Especially since he's still calling me sweetheart.

"Alright, that just leaves you," he says, turning to me. "You'll be with me. I've got a bow and a sheath of arrows set out for you. Now both of you go suit up." Then he walks away, shouting more orders as he goes.

Gale and I pick our way through the crowd to the table, which is stacked with boxes of white uniforms. We both find our sizes and slip them over our clothes. I'm sure to transfer my pearl and letter to the outside pockets. When we're finished, Gale looks me up and down.

"You look good," he jokes. "You should wear these things more often."

"Thanks," I laugh. "You don't look too bad yourself."

Gale smiles and is about to make a reply, but he's cut off as Haymitch calls for order. We both turn to listen.

"Alright," Haymitch says loudly, so everyone can hear him. "We're gonna be landing soon. We've spotted a group of potential recruits about a mile south of here. I've made you put the suits on just in case they're with the Capitol, in which case…" Here he pauses and stares around the room. "I hope you're good with those weapons," he finishes grimly. Then he continues.

"We don't want these people to know we've got a craft so that they don't think they're too overpowered and we scare them away. So we're going to be walking a bit. I will do all the talking. You keep your mouths shut unless I tell you otherwise. Stay in your assigned squads, and listen to your appointed leaders. And pray that this thing ends up running smoothly."

"Any questions?" Haymitch scans the room briefly. "No? Good. Then let's move out."

At his words all pairs of booted feet trudge towards the door, making a sound like a small stampede. I keep close to Gale.

"You okay, Catnip?" he says in a low voice.

I nod slowly, but I can't find any words. I felt so confident five minutes ago, but now that it's actually time I feel like I'm slipping back into insecurity. So I just stare straight ahead.

Unexpectedly, I feel a pressure on my hand, and I look down to find that Gale is giving me a reassuring squeeze.

"Remember what I said," he whispers. "It'll be fine. I know it."

I look up into those gray eyes I know so well. "Promise?" I ask softly.

Gale stares back at me. "Promise."

* * *

We reach the door of the hovercraft and wait for the ship to land. It's a lot quieter now, only a few people are talking in low whispers here and there. Many are fidgeting nervously. Finally, after an eternity, it seems, I can feel the craft descending, like the floor is dropping away beneath my feet. An odd sensation makes me feel like my stomach is plunging to the ground, too, although I'm not sure if it's my nerves or an effect of the hovercraft landing.

Slowly, tantalizingly, the hovercraft door slides open. Sunlight streams into the ship, making us all blink and squint against the brightness. For a moment we stand there hesitantly, but then Haymitch stands at the front of the group and addresses us.

"Helmets on," he orders. Everyone does as he says. I don't like it inside the helmet. It's not that it's uncomfortable, or that I can't see. Even though it's tinted on the outside, I can see perfectly clearly from the inside. It's just that it makes me feel so…disconnected from the real world. Like I'm all alone inside this helmet. Like I'm separate from everyone else, looking at them from behind a glass wall. I wonder if this is how Peeta felt when he was captured…I force the thought from my mind. I need to keep my head for this mission.

Haymitch waits for the last few people to shove their helmets on. "Right, let's go," he says. We all follow him out.

Once we're outside, I can feel the tension building. Almost no one is talking now. Just clutching their weapons and staring straight ahead or at the ground. I grip my own bow tightly and slip my other hand into my pocket to find my pearl. The sound of boots crunching through the dead grass surrounds me. It's uncomfortably hot in the suit. The sun is too bright. It's too quiet. I'm starting to feel dizzy. But over all this, my apprehension about the outcome of the mission occupies my mind the most. I can't do this, I think.

After about a quarter hour of silent trekking, Haymitch halts, and everyone follows suit. I look up at him and, even though I can't see his eyes, I follow the direction his helmet is pointing. And then I see it. In the distance, a dark line is appearing. Growing larger and larger as it nears us.

It's them.

"Weapons at the ready, just in case," Haymitch says to the group at large.

I fit an arrow into my bow and draw the string. My blood is pounding in my ears. I'm starting to pant a little, even though I'm not really tired. I don't let my eyes leave the line of black ahead of me. Friend…or foe? I wonder.

I'm hoping for friend.

Everyone in the group stands ready in their squads, stock still. It's so quiet that you can hear the light breezes rustling the yellow, parched grass. Tension saturates the air. And the black continues to get larger. As they approach, the group comes into sharper focus, and I am beginning to be able to pick out individual forms.

"They're not in Peacekeeper uniforms," I whisper to Haymitch. "Does that mean they're friendly?"

"Not necessarily," Haymitch answers. "We're in disguise, right?"

I turn back to the group with greater fear. But I force myself to be rational and study the approaching group. I don't like the look of them. They look like enemies, to me. The closer the unknown group comes, the more apparent it is: they are fighters. They're battered, but strong. They hold their weapons threateningly. And even though the weapons are simple—knives, arrows, spears—they look deadly in these strangers' hands. The tall figure at the front—their leader, I guess—appears to have a slight limp. Probably from some fierce battles. The closer they come, the more I'm certain…

They are not friends.

I raise my bow, string taut, and point it directly at the leader's heart. I could kill him in an instant, I know, if only Haymitch would give the word. I throw him an impatient sideways glance. Is he looking at the same thing as me? Can't he see that these people are enemies? But as I look over at him, he does something I do not expect. He pushes up the visor of his helmet. Now that his face is visible, I can see a strange look crossing his features as he stares towards the approaching enemy.

No, Haymitch, what are you thinking? I yell silently in my head. Give the order already!

But instead, Haymitch slowly extends his arm across my line of fire, restraining me.

"Don't shoot," he breathes. He continues to stare fixedly at the leader of the group as he creeps menacingly toward us. Is he crazy? What is he doing? With incredulous anger, I follow his line of sight. And then I understand his reaction.

Because they are finally close enough for us to be able to see their faces. And as I gaze across the empty field at the leader, the unexpected shock of recognition shoots through me like a firecracker.

Because the leader…

is Peeta.


	7. Stranger

**A/N: **Sorry it took soooo long to put this up. My internet filter on my PC won't let me add new chapters. :( So right now I'm using a different computer. I'm working on Chapter 8 as well, so hopefully I can get that up soon, too. :) P.S. everyone...SIX DAYS TIL MOCKINGJAY! OMGSH SO EXCITED! XD

* * *

It's a good thing Haymitch pushed down my weapon, because in my shock I release the still-taut bowstring, and my arrow lodges in the ground several meters from me. For a moment, I stand there, rooted in place, still gaping. Then, as if awakened by some bolt of electricity running through my body, I drop my bow and run. To Peeta.

"Stop! STOP! Are you crazy? It could be a trap!" Haymitch is shouting. But I don't care. All I know is that Peeta is standing a mere twenty paces from me now, and nothing is going to keep me from him.

Almost there…almost there, I tell myself. My arms are itching to close around him again, like they've been so desperately longing to do for all this time. Closer…closer…

And then, inexplicably, some force collides with me, knocking the breath out of me and causing me to slam to the ground. I lay there, stunned for a moment, before I am yanked roughly upright by the arms. Two of the enemy soldiers imprison me with their stony grip. I try to fight them off, pulling away with all my strength, but their hold on me is tight.

"This one's tough," I hear one of them mutter. The other answers with a grunt, and then speaks brusquely to another in the crowd.

"Sir. Orders?"

My head snaps back up as I hear the reply; a voice, as if from a dream, speaking softly.

"Remove the helmet," Peeta says.

The two soldiers quickly oblige. I refuse to take my eyes off of him for a second, and as my helmet is removed, leaving my face exposed, I wait for him to see that it's me and then call off his soldiers and wrap me in his arms like I've been dreaming about all these months and make me forget every nightmare and instead remember…finally…what it feels like to be home.

But it doesn't happen.

Though I see a flicker of surprise cross his features, there is also a sharp flash of unmistakable pain before his face is once again perfectly composed. It happens so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it. My heart sinks. Doesn't he recognize me? Why is he acting like I'm a stranger? Through my pain another fearful idea forms in my mind...that this really is a trap like Haymitch said, and this Peeta is not my Peeta…but an enemy.

The thought makes my stomach twist into a painful knot.

"Sir, they're approaching," one of the soldiers says, interrupting my worries. I hadn't noticed before through my preoccupation, but now I can hear the tromp of boots crunching through the dead grass as they near us.

Peeta looks up just as the tromping stops. His eyebrows push down in, what, I can't exactly tell, and his mouth forms a hard line. It scares me. Who is this cold, unfeeling leader?

Neither side moves or even breathes for what seems like an eternity. The tension makes me want to scream, but I only keep my eyes locked on Peeta's face while my heart thunders away. Finally, Peeta breaks the silence.

"Who are you?" he growls. I continue to stare at him, eyes wide with fear and confusion. What does he mean? Can't he see that it's me? Doesn't he see Haymitch standing there in the front? How does he not know who we are?

The other side still remains speechless.

"Speak!" Peeta spits the word at them. Anger darkens his brow and fills his voice with venom. The sight sends terror coursing through me.

Whoever this is, it is not Peeta.

Peeta does not have this harsh, growling voice. He does not have these dark lines of anger etched into his face. He does not have these dark, stormy eyes.

Peeta is not a stranger.

Finally, Haymitch's voice catches my attention.

"Are you Peeta Mellark?" he asks quietly.

Peeta seems to be taken aback for a second. Then he recovers his angry scowl.

"Are you Haymitch Abernathy?" he counters. Then he lowers his eyes to meet mine. The hard look in them frightens me, but to my amazement the fire in them softens as he gazes into my eyes, the fury replaced by pain.

"Is she really…Katniss Everdeen?" he whispers, and his voice breaks on my name.

I hear slow footfalls behind me, and in a moment Haymitch comes into my view and carefully approaches Peeta, who has now looked away from my eyes, but the pain is still evident. He looks up again when Haymitch stops in front of him.

"Yes," Haymitch says fervently. His voice is soft, but somehow it rings through the silent clearing. In that one word there is a firm declaration of truth.

Peeta stumbles back in disbelief. "I don't believe you," he breathes, but I can see the doubt in his eyes. The soldiers around him are fidgeting nervously, obviously worried at their leader's strange behavior.

"Sir?" one of them speaks out, hesitantly. But a hush steals over the whole army as Haymitch deliberately steps forward to place a hand on Peeta's shoulder.

"Trust me," he says. His dark eyes hold Peeta's, capturing his gaze and refusing to let go. "Trust me," he says again, gently this time.

Peeta stares back into Haymitch's eyes, some composure back in his expression, but still doubtful, searching. I can tell that he is trying to find a hint of deceit in Haymitch's eyes, his voice. But Haymitch's sincerity is impossible to deny. For one short instant, Peeta's eyes find mine again. My heart thuds unevenly in my chest. The pain in his eyes is plain to see, but I can sense something else…his gaze is almost wistful. Longing.

As I stare back into his eyes I try to channel every thought, every desperate yearning I've held back. Try to convince him to come back to us.

Peeta looks at me for an infinitesimal second longer, and then lets his eyes fall away. He glances back at Haymitch's expectant gaze. Then his eyes dart to the sea of Peacekeeper uniforms, distrusting. Then to the stricken faces of his own army. His eyes find my face one last time, filled with uncertainty. And then he looks back at Haymitch, and cannot doubt.

He nods slowly, and I can breathe again.

* * *

Soon the entire party is trudging back through the empty fields toward the hovercraft. Peeta's little band, which I had overestimated in numbers through the tension, follows us back willingly enough, a little edgy, but unswervingly loyal to Peeta's decision. As we walk I realize just how much they must trust him to follow an army of strangers in Peacekeeper uniforms to an unknown location…Peeta must have earned that trust well.

I chance a glance at him. He stands tall, walking quickly and staring straight ahead. It's hard to judge his expression, but it seems to me that under his smoothly collected features is a turmoil of emotion…pain, most recognizably, but other things as well…fear, uncertainty, confusion, hopelessness. It makes me ache inside to see all of this reflected in the eyes I know so well, eyes that are usually so gentle, kind, warm. If everything was normal—well, as normal as it ever was—I would reach out and take his hand, but in this situation, the urge feels almost alien. So instead I slip my hand into Gale's, who is walking beside me in a manner almost identical to Peeta, and I can sense him relax visibly at the gesture. But even with the comforting warmth of Gale's hand in mine, I can't keep from watching Peeta out of the corner of my eye. I take in every inch of him, thirsty to fill the hole in my chest with what I lacked for all this time. He must have grown at least a head taller since I last saw him. The muscles in his arms, solid before, seem even more defined. A layer of stubble covers his jawline, giving him a thin beard. And his blonde hair almost reaches his shoulders. He is every bit a man as Gale. His tattered clothing and the dirt layering his body remind me of how Gale and I sometimes look when returning from a hunting trip. Even the various scratches and bruises that are obvious on his pale skin. It's hard to imagine that this is the same boy who lay pitifully in the mud, dying. Who scares off every animal around with his blundering footfalls. Who so delicately forms perfect little frosting flowers on cookies. Though some part of me is glad that some of his past weaknesses appear to have gone, the other, bigger part almost feels like crying. Because this man, whoever he is, is not _my_ Peeta.

Some sort of strange little choking sound escapes my throat, and I can feel Gale glance curiously at me, but I pretend it was just a cough. After a little while, I release Gale's hand with a whispered, "Be right back," so as not to hurt his feelings before I weave through the crowd to find Haymitch. Once I do, I fall into step beside him, silent for a moment as I try to figure out exactly what to say. But he speaks first.

"That was a pretty idiotic move there, you know," he grunts.

"I know," I whisper. "I just…couldn't help it."

Haymitch says nothing

"Why…why won't he talk to me, Haymitch?" I start in a soft voice. "Why won't he even look at me? I thought—I thought…" But I trail off, unable to get the words out.

Haymitch considers. Then he glances sideways at me.

"Sweetheart," he says slowly. "I think you know why."

"No, I don't," I protest.

He just keeps walking. After a while, he begins again.

"Obviously," he says, "he's changed."

I wait for him to elaborate.

Haymitch stops walking and turns to me.

"Katniss."

The use of my real name instead of some stupid endearment captures my attention. Whatever Haymitch is saying, it must be important.

"We have no way of knowing what the Capitol did to him, but from the looks of it, it wasn't good." He sighs. "The truth is, he may never be the same." Then he looks at me for a second longer before moving on with a sad shake of his head.

I stay frozen in place as people march around me, like I'm just some rock in a stream. Haymitch's last words are still echoing in my head. With an almost dreamlike quality, I hear Gale's voice echoing in my ears, too. "What's wrong?" he's asking. I can sense him coming up beside me, but I hardly even notice. I turn into the flow of the stream, searching the crowd for a flash of blond, and lock my eyes on the back of Peeta's head.

_What have they done to him?_

Gale follows my gaze, and I think he understands.


	8. Tension

**A/N:** Okay, I realize I haven't updated in a LONG. TIME. Sorry about that. But I just discovered today that I never put up two chapters on that I thought I had (chapters 8 and 9). I've had them up on LiveJournal since before Mockingjay came out, but I guess I never put them up here. Whoops. So here they are. :D

P.S. I'm sorry if you are one of the few people who were actually keeping up with this fic and I made you wait so long and then I never put anything up...If that's you and you want to read these new chapters, I'm guessing that you're going to have to start from the beginning because it's been so long, and you probably don't remember anything. (sorry...) But if you do reread it, thank you so much for supporting me! I'm going to try to write more of this. The Hunger Games movie made me obsessed with the Hunger Games again and I've been thinking of new stuff for this fic. :)

NOTE: For those of you who have never read this (or if you forgot), this fic was written BEFORE Mockingjay (including chapters 8 and 9). But anything from now on is obviously going to be written after. But I'm still going to try to go with the vision of Mockingjay that I had in my head before I read it.

OK, enjoy and thanks for reading! Please comment. :)

* * *

"Katniss," Gale says. I will myself to tear my gaze away from Peeta, but the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach doesn't leave. I feel nauseous. All I wanted was to have Peeta restored to me, and now that he's back, it's as if my dream come true has turned into some sort of sick, twisted nightmare. His body is back, but as for who's inside it, it's not Peeta. Not my Peeta. I think of those cold, empty eyes and I shiver.

"C'mon, Catnip," Gale says. He takes my hand and tugs me gently through the crowd. I follow him blindly, feeling like I'm on autopilot. I don't know if I can take this anymore. I think I'm breaking. The Capitol is breaking me. They've taken everything I care about. They took the prospect of a comfortable life for the people of District 12. They took our freedom, and forced us to do things their way. They took my father, down there in the mines. They took my mother, lost in a haze of despair. They took my blood and sweat and tears, during the Games and after. They took Peeta from me, and still…they never gave him back.

And now, they've taken my last ray of hope.

The endless crunch of the dead grass beneath our feet assaults me; dead, like everything else around me. Dead, like Peeta's eyes. Dead, like Gale's voice, trying to pull me out of my stupor. Dead, like the way I feel right now.

"Katniss," Gale whispers, and for his sake I force myself to resurface. I blink sharply against the blinding sun. I concentrate intently on my surroundings, commanding myself to stay here, in the present, next to Gale. Because now is all that matters.

As my eyes wander through the crowd, I notice people that I didn't notice before. Johanna Mason, up there in the front lines next to Peeta. Still sullen and grouchy as ever, but there's something else about her…a sort of softness around her eyes that definitely wasn't there when I knew her. Has the Capitol changed her, too? I don't understand. Maybe I'm imagining things.

So I keep searching the crowd for familiar faces, faces that I haven't seen in a long time. And I find that there are none. Sorrow swells inside me as I fruitlessly search through the sea of people again. No Cinna. No Portia. Not even Annie. I glance to the side and see Finnick desperately searching the crowd, just as I am. He keeps on his wild search, but I give up. Because I'm surrounded by strangers. Even the people I thought I knew…are strangers. I think again of Peeta, and I have to bite my lip to keep from sobbing.

The Capitol is breaking me.

We finally reach the hovercraft, after what seems like a million years. When Peeta's army sees it, some nod in admiration, and others stumble back and draw their weapons, sure that we really are with the Capitol now. But one look from Peeta silences them. Again, I marvel at how utterly they trust him. And it makes me sad to remember when I trusted him like that, when now all I am is uncertain and scared.

We all file into the craft, while murmurs run through the crowd like whispering trees. Once inside, the newcomers glance around warily. I can't help looking back at Peeta as he crosses the threshold. And, just for a moment, I catch his gaze. I plead in my eyes, but he only averts his. I feel my heart sink.

People begin to poke their heads tentatively around corners with wide eyes, obviously surprised at the new group. Haymitch stands in the front and speaks.

"Welcome," he says. "If you're wondering where we got the craft, it's courtesy of District 13. And that's where we're headed."

A collective mutter goes around the group. Haymitch waits for silence.

"So please, make yourself at home. But don't get too settled, because we're gonna need you all to be ready for action. We still have work to do." His dark eyes glitter dangerously. "But we'd like you to please visit our medical center before you select your sleeping quarters. This way." He turns without another word and walks down the corridor. After a half-beat pause, the rest of the group trudges after him.

Peeta, I notice, lingers behind, waiting for his troops to go ahead of him. I try to make eye contact with him again, but he doesn't look my way before following after the rest of the group.

Gale and I are left standing alone, hand in hand.

He gives me a wary sideways glance. "I'm gonna go let my family know that we're all okay," he says. "If I know them, they're worried sick."

I manage a slow nod. I can't seem to force any words out.

As Gale retreats down the hall, I am left completely alone. And all I can do is slip my hand into my pocket to clutch my pearl as my world shatters around me.

After a few minutes, I compose myself, deciding to head down to the medical center with the others. I'm sure with so many people, my mother will need all the help she can get.

So I walk quickly down the corridor, catching up with the last stragglers of the group. My heart skips a beat as I spot Peeta. But he doesn't see me, or if he does, he doesn't acknowledge me.

The crowd surges into the already-packed medical center. I can see my mother and a dozen nurses' helpers, including Prim, hurrying around, quickly and efficiently scanning cuts and bruises and giving the okay to be dispatched. But despite the hustle and bustle of the busy room, a hush steals over the medical team as Peeta quietly enters the room. Some people look confused, some suspicious, and some look utterly shocked, their mouths gaping openly. I even hear glass shatter as a vial slips unknowingly from a pair of surprised hands. One voice breaks the silence.

"Peeta?" Prim squeaks, eyes wide with happy disbelief. And then she rushes forward to throw her frail arms around his waist. I can't see Peeta's face, but I can see how his muscles tense as his body goes rigid. But after a moment, he relaxes into the embrace and brings a tentative hand to pat her head. When Prim emerges, her face is practically beatific. And I, silently approaching from behind, can see the sudden softness in Peeta's eyes, unable to resist Prim's warmth. And the small smile he offers back to her gives me a small, bright ray of hope in my heart.

Prim catches sight of me in the shadows, causing her smile to widen even further, if that's possible. "Katniss!" she trills joyfully, engulfing me in a hug as well. "I was so worried."

"Well, there's no need. We're all fine," I murmur, even though I'm not.

Prim gazes up at me. "I'm so glad," she says, and she truly looks it. And then she releases me.

"And isn't this wonderful?" she continues with verve. "Peeta! He's back with us!"

All I can do is force my lips to form a tight smile.

Prim's face falls. "Aren't…aren't you happy?" she asks.

"Of course I am," I lie. "It's just that…" I chance a glance at Peeta and see the strained look on his face, the way he refuses to make eye contact. "Well, everything is just so confusing," I finish lamely.

"I'm sure you could work it out if you talk," Prim prods.

"Yeah, maybe," I say. Prim just looks at me expectantly. So I steel myself and look back up at Peeta, too cowardly to meet his eyes.

"Could we talk privately, please?" I ask softly.

He tenses. "Of course," he says stiffly. How can he refuse with Prim standing right there?

"Great," Prim cuts in. "But only after I say so." She takes us both by the hand and steers us to a clear area, pushing Peeta down into a chair. Then she deftly removes Peeta's shirt and I watch as her eyes sweep expertly over his various cuts and bruises. Suddenly she freezes, and when I follow her gaze I see that her eyes are glued to a huge lump on Peeta's chest, oozing putrid pus.

"Tracker jackers!" she exclaims. "When did your team run into those?"

"They didn't," Peeta says quietly. "Only a couple of us did."

His words confuse me until I see Johanna, sitting at a near table. She seems to be suffering from the stings as well. I put two and two together, and then let out a gasp of horror. Did the Capitol do this to Peeta? I can see it now; the perfect torture weapon, causing severe pain and mental trauma. And they would already know that he can survive the poison…I remember the terrifying experience from the Games and shudder.

My mother approaches us. She gives me a warm hug first, and then addresses Peeta.

"I can't tell you how happy we are that you're okay," she says, and her smile is genuine.  
"Welcome back." Peeta merely gives her a nod.

My mother notices the stings that are drawing Prim's attention. "I have something for those," she says. I watch as she retrieves a container of the same leaves Rue had in the arena and crushes them into a fine powder. She then adds water and mixes it up. The result is a thick green paste which she slathers on Peeta's stings, causing him to sigh in relief. As my mom moves on to Johanna, she gives Peeta another smile and then squeezes my hand before walking away.

"Now to deal with the rest of these," Prim says, all business. She carefully cleans each wound, rubbing in different ointments and salves. Then she uses fresh bandages to patch up the worst. She rolls up his pantlegs, revealing his once-shiny artificial leg, but the worse of the damage seems to be on his upper half, so she doesn't have to do much.

"Alright, you're all set," she finally announces. "Now, Peeta, I want you to come in at least once a day for me to check on you, especially those." She points to the tracker jacker stings. Peeta reaches for his shirt, but Prim snatches it away. "No, that's filthy. It'll only bring infection," she scolds. "There should be clean clothes in any of the rooms you pick. No go ahead and wash up." Then she turns to me. "Katniss, you'll just have to wait a few minutes to have your talk." She smiles sweetly at me.

I nod automatically. And then I watch as Peeta stalks out of the room without another word.


	9. Home

The next hour feels like drudgery. I change back into my clothes, clean up, and then try to stay out of sight, not wanting any more people to come up and have a chat with me about Peeta. It's hard enough as it is without having to force myself to animate my face and gush enthusiastically.

I wander around aimlessly in the shadows, watching for Peeta. Because he did agree to talk to me, and no matter how unpleasant it may be, I think I'll go insane if I have to endure a moment longer of him hating me for a reason I don't know. And so I wait.

Finally, I see him while trudging through a deserted corridor. "Peeta," I whisper. He whirls around sharply, and when he sees me a shadow crosses his features. He's almost about to turn away again when I reach out touch his hand. He recoils at my touch, as if I'm a poisonous snake. But he doesn't walk away. Instead, he looks at me steadily with those now-icy blue eyes, questioning, challenging.

"You said we could talk privately," I breathe. His mouth forms a hard line.

"Please," I plead softly, fervently. My eyes hold his, and I watch as another flicker of that unknowable something flashes through his eyes again; that mixture of pain, remorse, and longing. Then it's gone as quickly as it had come, and he gives me a curt nod.

Neither of us speaks as I follow him into an uncomfortably empty room, which I guess is his new sleeping quarters. He turns around to face me and then says nothing while he waits for me to break the silence. But now that I've finally got him alone, I have no idea what to say. The only thought I can seem to form is how different he looks when he's clean, with fresh clothes and skin free of mud. I flounder desperately for words. The awkward struggle continues until finally I blurt out, "What's going on? What…what happened to you?"

Peeta merely looks at me. "The Capitol happened to me," he says.

I feel flustered and stupid, and I don't know what else to say. But now that he's at least speaking to me, I've got to keep him going. So I find myself voicing the thought that's been preying on my mind for hours.

"Why do you hate me, Peeta?" I say softly, with downcast eyes.

Peeta looks a little surprised. But then the hardness is back. "Because…" he says, "because…I don't know who you are." He finishes in a whisper.

My eyebrows fly up. "Peeta," I say, daring to take a step closer, "Peeta, it's me. Katniss. You know that."

He looks back up at me. "No, I don't."

I'm still confused. "I don't understand," I say. "Of course it's me."

He half-turns away from me and his voice comes out as a bitter whisper.

"That's what they all say."

What is he saying?

"Who?" I ask, inching even closer.

"Them," he says tonelessly. "You."

"Me?" I'm practically flabbergasted. I have no idea what he's talking about. Is it possible that his mind is unraveling? I'm still puzzling over the meaning of his words when I see the pain plain on his face and stop.

And then it all comes together.

Has the Capital been causing him to have hallucinations of me?

"Peeta," I breathe, "these other Katnisses…were they real?"

"No," he says in a hopeless, dead whisper. "Yes…I don't know. I never know." He sucks in a ragged breath. "They're always so convincing."

I can feel my eyes getting wider with the realization of what Peeta is saying.

"Peeta," I say, reaching out touch his hand. "Peeta, I'm real. It's me. It really is me."

But Peeta jumps back, horrified.

"Get away from me!" he shouts.

I stumble backwards into the wall and stay there, scared and confused. I know I should leave now, but I don't want to. So I just stand there, staring at the floor.

After a few minutes of silence, Peeta's sharp voice startles me. "Why do you keep doing that?" he asks suddenly.

My head snaps up. He's still not making any sense. What am I doing? I have no idea.

"You keep putting your hand in your pocket. Like you're holding something in there. I've seen you do it about a million times."

Oh! My fingers had yet again found my pearl without me realizing. I guess since I've made such a habit of it, I don't even notice that I'm doing it any more.

I bring the pearl slowly out of my pocket and display it on my palm.

"It's the pearl you gave me during the Quell," I say quietly. But Peeta doesn't seem to hear me. At first sight of the glistening round ball, he seems transfixed. A strange look crosses his features, and for a brief moment I can see the boy I once knew in his face, by the way his blue eyes are filled with wonder now instead of hate. And I feel a bubble of hope swell within my chest. Hope that underneath this hard mask, my Peeta is still there.

"You…you kept it?" he breathes.

I nod. "It was…hard, without you. It gave me something to remember you by. Something…to hold on to."

Now it's Peeta that is inching towards me, eyes still on the pearl. He hesitantly reaches out his hand, and I close the distance between us to slip the pearl into it. He shudders slightly at my touch, but this time he doesn't recoil. I take this as a good sign.

Slowly, Peeta brings the pearl to eye level and examines it. He rolls it around in his fingers, and I can tell by the delicate way he handles it that it's more than just a pearl to him, too. This pearl is something special.

Finally he looks back at me.

"It's really you," he whispers.

"Yes, Peeta," I whisper back. And I can't help it that my eyes are tearing up a little. I think I see a glisten in Peeta's, too.

And then, since I can't stand it another minute, I rush at him and fling my arms around him. I lay my head against his chest, where I can listen to his steady heart, just like I always used to.

Peeta is surprised, but after a moment he recovers enough to wrap his arms around me, too. And then he begins to stroke my hair. Just like he used to. I feel like we've never been apart. Because this is the way it's supposed to be. It feels good, so good. It feels good to feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine, to hear his heartbeat, to feel the tingles run along my scalp from his soft touch. It feels good to close my eyes and be at peace.

It feels good to be home.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers, and I hold him even tighter, never wanting to ever let go.

* * *

**A/N:** Was that awkward? I didn't know how to write this scene. And I wrote this chapter like two years ago (yikes...). Also, it's hard for me to judge how in-character my versions of the characters are. But I feel like Katniss is way off. :/ Anybody have any suggestions on how to improve? I'd really appreciate any concrit or just comments in general. Thanks!


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